You Always Know
by Mell Kamiyana
Summary: But I don’t hate you. I never could. You know that, and maybe that’s why you love making me angry. I hate that, too.' Monologue of sorts, Anna about Yoh.
1. I Hate That

**You Always Know**

Mell: Whoo…Another Anna x Yoh ficlet. A bit random, and mostly a monologue of sorts, so it's kinda boring. Anyways, not really sure where the inspiration came from. It's a quick write, not really edited, so constructive criticism is appreciated!

Without further ado, the story:

A glare, a snide remark, the cold shoulder. You always seemed to take each one without much remorse, brushing it off, forgiving me. Sometimes I don't think I deserve it.

I'm selfish like that, though. I don't want you to stop forgiving me every time I do this. And sometimes, even, I want to be the one who just grins and understands. But we both know that isn't likely to happen, is it?

You always grin, while I sit there and tell you to stop. Even when you're about to face the battle for your life, you enter it grinning. Like an idiot. As always.

And sometimes, I hate you for it. Your grin infuriates me, I hate it, hate it, hate it. Why don't you ever stop grinning?

I know why, though. I don't need an explanation from you, just like when you don't need one from me. I know what your plans are, you know what mine is. And every time you try and hide these things from me, I hate you more.

But I don't hate you. I never could. You know that, and maybe that's why you love making me angry. I hate that, too.

But even when I tell you this, you grin at me. Grin. Cheeky, wide, and childish. How do you manage something like that? You're an idiot, truly.

I don't mind, though. You're my idiot, not that I'd ever say that. You don't need me to, you never do. And I never need you to. There has been no wavering in my feelings from the time they arrived, and that's how they'll stay.

And if yours ever change, I'll know. I'll know if they change, Yoh. Just like you always knew I didn't hate you. I'll know when you love someone else.

But you don't, at least, not yet. I'm not worried, don't get the wrong idea. Anyone you would choose over me would have to be pretty amazing, eh?

Maybe someone who doesn't send you on 10 mile runs with 15 pound weights attached to you? But it was for your benefit, and you know that. You're just lazy. I hate that too, by the way.

But enough about me, let's talk about you. I could name everything I hate about you, starting from that stupid little grin all the way to when you block me out. When I can't understand you. When I don't know your plans.

You have quite a tendency to do that to me. You seem to like to do it to everyone. And that stupid little friend of yours, I hate him. He's so new to our world.

This world we know, grew up in, live. He doesn't understand, not like I do. Why do you turn to him? But I know why, so I don't bother to ask. You turn to him, because he accepts you. You know I'll always accept you, but that's not enough. I'm just like you.

He's not.

He's merely a human. Though he's got a good heart if he can see these ghosts. Could use a bit of restraint when he exclaims about these sorts of things, but it only makes you grin wider and laugh. I don't think it's very funny, it's actually quite annoying. And I hate it.

I'm also afraid of him. Will he take you from me? Maybe not now, but when we grow older and you're not so satisfied with your life? Will you two run off for kicks and leave me? Even if you did, I'd find you.

I'm sure you know that, too. You always know these things.

I tell you to surprise me with dinner, you take one look at me and know exactly what I want, but don't ask for. There are things I can't ask for, things I can't do. I can't let my guard down as easily as you, but you don't really.

I just get along as an ice queen, and that's alright. You understand, even when no one else does. I love that. I hate it, too.

Because I can't hide things from you. I'll tell you to run 15 miles, fast, and you immediately know to only run 5 and get back quickly. Never quite knowing for what, but knowing you need to.

Without me saying a thing. Just one look into your chocolate brown eyes, and I can tell what you're thinking. Usually. And when I can't, I hate it.

I hate you, in general. But I suppose, for me, hate is quite a common word. Thrown all about. Hate this, hate that, hate you.

So what does my hate mean? If I ask you, what will you tell me? Will you not answer me because I know already? Or will you surprise me, as you so often do, by giving me an answer. Or maybe you'll just grin, I love that.

It's nice, sometimes. It's got a calming effect, and not just on me. I can see it on everyone. Your grin calms them down, even when you're fighting for your life and they're completely scared. You grin for me, and I feel fine.

And when you die, I bet you'll be grinning, won't you? Or maybe you'll actually look sad. Or maybe you'll die in your sleep, but you sometimes grin then, too. I've watched you, and you snore too loud. I hate it.

But I hope I never have to see it. The day you die, I mean. It'd hurt too much, but even more, I'd be a mess. And no one would know how to deal with me. Not Manta, not Horo Horo, not Pirika, not Tamao. None of them understand.

They think I really hate them when I say it. My hate means hate to them. My icy tone means leave me alone. My cold glare means I'm angry. Telling them to do something fast makes them do it slower so they won't get more expected chores.

I don't completely hate that.

If too many people understood, in such a way as you do, I'd hate it. A real, burning hate. I don't want to be some open book, like you seem to everyone. But you're not, you're hidden. Hiding from your past. The past in which you were shunned.

I know you hate that, when I bring it up. But it happened, and it's happening. You need to understand it Yoh. It's what we are, nothing to be ashamed of, and loving people like Manta only brings us to a state of compromise with them.

But when will they turn? How long will it be before we're demon children again? How many more tears and heartbreaks will we have to face? How many more can you handle?

I hate it! All of it! When you're upset, when you think about the past. I hate seeing you upset, and I hate having to be the one who comforts you. But I don't, even though I should. It's been Manta who healed your torn heart. Not me, I just told you they were horrible, low down, and not to bother with them. I didn't try and help you understand, I only made it worse. I hate myself for that one.

But I'm trying. And you know; I know you do. All the pain we've suffered, while in different situations, different places, different people. We understand that, that burning hatred for us from them. And you have hope for them.

You truly are something.

I could never have so much faith in anything. Even you make my faith dwindle, with all your stupid risks. I hate risks.

I'm just full of hatred. All of it. Resentment. Perhaps my heart is more beaten than yours?

But it's not, I know. I never tried to trust beyond what I had to. I never got hurt like you did. I never expected anything more from them.

Manta is probably what made my heart hurt for the first time. Something I'd never had faith in finally showed you compassion. The compassion I'd wanted to give you, but couldn't. Appearances are there for a reason.

And I can't let mine fall. As selfish as it is, I can't. I couldn't embrace in front of everyone, proclaim my dying love, and lay a wet one on you. It'd be too weird, and then everyone would think other things.

So I've sheltered myself, while you've grown more open. I hate that. You're growing without me. I don't want you too, and I'll stop you with all my power possible.

"Anna? Is he going to be okay?" A voice rings into my thoughts. Yoh is fighting again, and it's not looking good. I'm steely eyed and emotionless, as always. I scowl at the voice.

"How should I know? He's an idiot, and if he gets himself killed, it's his fault," I snap harshly, my scowl deepening. I'll hate you if you're not alright.

"You always know," the voice retorts, more quietly.

I don't always know. Yoh does. He knows how to make me hate him, without really doing anything. He knows how to keep me from knowing anything. I hate not knowing.

As he takes a hard hit I refrain from wincing. He's grinning, all my insides loosen, my muscles un-tense. I'm fine, Yoh is fine. He's grown stronger, made new friends, and is changing into someone more open. More into what he's always wanted.

I hate this, all of it.

"If you can't beat us, join us," Yoh's voice calls as I glance up, my eyes narrowed. He's got the stupid spirit nearly dead, and now it's my turn. This fight for him is over. I remove my rosary beads, sending the spirit away.

Yoh looks as though he's about to collapse. That was probably one of his hardest fights. Everyone waits tediously around me, wondering if they should go help him. Do they expect me to do it?

'If you can't beat us, join us.' Damn him, damn every bit of him. I scowl deeply as I walk over to Yoh, reaching him just as he's about to collapse to the ground.

Throwing his arm over my shoulder, I take on some of his weight. Everyone looks mildly surprised, but not Yoh. He just grins and lets me help him. I'm still scowling, calling him an idiot, telling him how much we'll increase his training.

"I hate you," I tell him simply as we make our way towards our friends.

"I know," he says simply, still grinning. "But this is a start, isn't it?"

And I look incredulously at him. A start? To what? My confusion must show, but I know it doesn't, he's just too good at reading me.

"Soon you'll love the little birdies and bugs," he laughs, tripping on a rock and taking us both stumbling down to the ground, his body almost completely covering mine. I scowl as I try to stand from under his weight. I'm not getting anywhere, why isn't anyone helping?

"Get up, Yoh," I command of him, but he just lifts his head and grins.

"I know, I know, you hate this," he takes the words out of my mouth.

You always know, don't you? Always.

Fin.

Mell: How was it? I just reread it and it seems alright to me. A bit random, and oddly boring and interesting. Hope I got Anna's perspective right for the most part. Second Shaman King ficcie, probably just a one shot. I may continue with a few more monologues if I get enough reviews, but I think a one shot makes it good…

Anyways, should Mell write more, continuing from this point?

Review please, I'll love you!


	2. I Love That

**A/N: Soooo...My attempt at a sequel drabble from Yoh's POV. Not nearly as good in my opinion. I'm much more comfortable writing from Anna's POV, but I wanted to challenge myself so I gave it a try.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

The Things You Do To Me

"I know, I know, you hate this," I say, my grin widening across my face. I can see the recognition flicker in your eyes. You get this really cute wrinkle above your right eyebrow and your nose scrunches a little bit whenever you're thinking about it. I'd never tell you this, though, because then I'd never get to see it again. You'd wear a bag over your head before you let anyone read the emotions on your face. But they're there. I can read them. I love that.

I don't struggle very hard to move myself off of you. In fact, I'm savoring in the moment, despite the sharp pains coursing through several parts of my body. Any contact with you is worth enduring it. The fact that others can see us makes the pain almost nonexistent. I know you're worried – worried about what they think and what they'll say, but they won't. Trust me, you've got them good and scared of you.

I love that.

What I love more is that because I'm not moving, that little twitch in your eyebrow is deepening. You're worried, though you'd never admit it. I love that. It's like our private game that no one even knows we play. I wouldn't mind letting people know we were playing, but you'd hate that. I'd love it. The thing is, though, if everyone knew we were playing a game all the time, they'd know how badly I lose all the time.

I know you think you're the constant loser. That I'm constantly leaving you behind and shutting you out, but the truth is I lose every time I do those things. Every time I shut you out it's because I'm not strong enough, or smart enough, or quick enough. You're all those things and more and that's why I love you, but you don't see it that way. I love you for that, too. And I know you hate it when I shut you out, but if I didn't I'm afraid you'd see me as weak, incapable of being the Shaman King. Of being your Shaman King.

I surround myself with all these people who love and are entertained by me so that I feel more comfortable, more needed. I need to be needed. You don't need anything. I love that, usually. I love when it feels like you need me, even if it isn't very often. But when you do, it feels like nothing else in the world matters – not being Shaman King, not being accepted by anyone else, not my friends, not my family – when you need me, my world stops for you.

I wish you knew that.

I wish you knew what you do to me. Every time I see that twitch in your eyebrow, or see your eyes soften when it's just the two of us, or even when you simply decide to cook one night – you drive me wild, Anna, and I wish you could see that. But I kind of love that you don't.

And every time I make you angry, I love that, too. I know how much you hate it, but if I didn't I'm afraid I'd lose something – some part of you that I need so much I can't stand it – and so I don't stop. Even now, with your tiny fists pushing against my chest and you claiming I'm much too heavy and should be on a diet (aren't I supposed to be gaining muscle and getting heavier?) I'm grinning at you, watching you become more infuriated with me. But I know how far I can push you and finally I roll off, helping myself up as though I'd never been in a fight in the first place.

I love the way your face gets red when I'm openly affectionate, too, but I know I can only get away with so much of that. Which is why I don't mind that you're ignoring the hand I held out to you to help you get up; I expected as much.

What I didn't expect was you to slip your fingers through mine on the walk home. I tried to keep my face impassive, but by the small grin I saw on your lips I knew I'd failed. But it was okay – I loved you and I didn't mind that you knew it. In fact, I loved that you knew it, that sometimes you knew the little things you did to me drove me wild.

And trust me, there are a lot of little things you do that drive me wild. I don't completely mind you not knowing all of those because you know more than enough. And sometimes you take advantage of those – that's your power over me. I may be able to hide what I'm thinking from you, but I don't have this kind of power over you. You could leave me at any moment and survive. You're strong and beautiful and smart. You'd survive with or without me.

Me? I'm helplessly and desperately in love with you. But you already know that, because who else do you treat the way you treat me?

I know our friends don't always get it, but I do. And I always will get it. I'll always get you, too, Anna. I know you worry about it sometimes, about me running off with Manta or falling out of love with you. But it's impossible. Absolutely impossible because I simply wouldn't survive without you, no matter what you think of our relationship I am infinitely more dependent on having you around than you are on having me around.

Or, maybe, we're just as dependent on each other. Maybe we're perfect soul mates and neither of us could truly be whole without the other. That thought both comforts and scares me in a way I know plagues and scares you constantly. I have it easier; I have more distractions and friends to keep my mind off how terrifying the thought of losing you is. I hate that I can't make it easier for you to think about, though.

I wonder if you ever think as much about this kind of thing as I do. It feels a little ridiculous, all the things I could possibly worry over and point out and infer. I'm like a walking monologue waiting to happen when I think about you. Did you know that?

I'm sure you did, judging by the way you've kept relatively silent, your thumb softly rubbing the top of my hand on the walk home, leaving my skin on fire every time your thumb brushed past it. But you didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge my unusual silence. No one did. Or if they had, I was simply too lost in thought to respond. I'm sure you just snarled at them and they left us alone. I love it when you do that.

The way other people jump when you yell and the way you get angry if I don't. It's all such a big part of you that if you ever became a happy, caring person to the world, well, I don't know what I'd do. I'd miss having you all to myself, I guess. Which doesn't bode well for any children we might have – I might be too immature to deal with someone else having your unconditional love. But I'm sure if you love them, I'll love them too.

I'd do anything you did. I'd follow you to the ends of the earth or off the edge of a cliff if you asked me too. But you already know that, which is why you don't press your luck by asking too much of me. I love you for that, too.

One by one our friends peel away from us on the walk home. Have they gone home? Left us because of you? Or because I've been so spaced out? When Manta finally says his goodbye, I realize everyone has left the two of us and we're still three blocks from home. Without looking up you answer my unspoken question.

"I told them they should just head home and I'd take care of you," you say, briefly glancing up at me from under your lashes. I love it when you do that.

"Oh," is all I have to intelligently reply. It's not much, but that's what thinking about you does to me. Your lips curve up very slightly as though you know what you've done – that this lapse in intelligence has been caused by everything about you.

"Yoh?" You ask, your brow furrowing in the center. The look of concentration and concern and something else – fear, maybe? – crosses your face. I blink, my face remaining impassive in a way I know you hate, but my eyes not hiding anything back.

"Yeah?" I'm listening, Anna. To you and everything you have to say, always. Never question that. However, silence is all that seems to follow. Like you can't get worked up what you want to say, or maybe you don't want to say it at all. I frown very slightly once we're inside our house and you still haven't finished your thought.

"Look, Anna-" I start, frustrated and concerned. What is it you can't tell me? But I'm cut off when you kiss me, you thin arms winding their way around my neck and your slender fingers twining in my hair. The frustration immediately dissipates as I wrap my arms around your waist and return the kiss, leaning down so your feet can still touch the ground.

I feel lightheaded when we break apart momentarily to catch our breath. You're not nearly as winded as I am – perhaps you remembered to breathe when you were kissing me? I don't give you much time to recover, however, bringing my lips upon yours once again. I love the little things you do, I love that you can remember to breathe and I love that you take my breath away.

I feel you tug us towards the bedroom and I pick you up, carrying you the rest of the way. I love the way you make me feel, even if you have no idea. I could tell you a thousand times and you'd never understand what you do to me. What being near you, touching you, kissing you, smelling you does to me. And I love you for that.

I hear you kick the door shut when we get in the room, still maintaining some semblance of modesty while wrapped around me and pulling my shift off. I love that, too.

**A/N: How was it? Awful? Decent? Review please! Constructive criticisms are appreciated. Flames are not.**


End file.
